My Big Fat Fake Engagement
Page 40
Do I even love Colin?
Stupid me thought I’d make it work using a checklist for our compatibility.
Both career-oriented people. Check.
Former lovers. Check.
Both matured and ready to settle down. Check and check.
Boy, was I wrong on that last one.
“Violet?” Colin presses again, this time reaching across the table and placing his hands atop mine.
Suddenly, I feel queasy, and I have to fight back the urge to throw up in his lap.
“I know this has to come as a shock to you, but I’ll cover the lost deposit on the wedding hall and every other expense associated with our engagement so you don’t have to worry.”
Just like I thought, he’s already planned his exit strategy, as if our wedding, our marriage, was some business transaction. For him, maybe it was. For me? I don’t know, I realize. Maybe this is what the buzzing butterflies have been trying to tell me?
“Why?” I ask simply, battling down the surge of nausea.
Colin licks his lips, lips that I once enjoyed on my neck, on my breasts, on my most sacred of places.
“Violet, you know I adore you, and you’re beautiful, smart, and kind, but . . . I don’t think I’m ready for marriage.” He stares at me again, rubbing my hands as if waiting for the crying hysterics he knows must be coming.
He definitely wants a show, just not too much of one. That perfect balance of greedy hunger for drama, tampered with the knowledge that he doesn’t want to look bad.
That’s why he picked the coffee shop, I realize. Cold and calculated. The Radcliffe way. In public, he knows I’m not going to go fully emotional, batshit crazy or really even make a scene. It’s not my style.
But he does want to see me shatter into a million tiny pieces, and he wants an audience while he does his dirty work.
I’ve been ignoring it, something I could easily do with our quick whirlwind relationship, but I can see it clearly now that he’s serving it up on a platter like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Everything is a façade with him. Image and reputation reign supreme.
I bet he thought I’d fit some corporate wife checkbox. Which would be so hurtful, except that I guess I was doing the same thing with my own checkboxes.
This was doomed from the start.
When I don’t muster even a single teardrop or argument, he continues, “We’re both so young, and hell, we haven’t even had sex in over three weeks.” His tone is accusatory, like it’s my fault we’ve been so tired that sex has seemed like one more thing on the ever-growing to-do list.
He keeps digging at the wound, pouring salt in a steady stream into the bloody mess of our relationship. “We’re both so busy with our jobs. You have that decorating thing you do that you love so much, and it takes up so much of your time, and I’m really busy at Dad’s company, kicking ass and making deals. I . . . I just think we’re at two different crossroads in our lives.”
The decorating thing that I do? Fuck off.
Out of all the things he said, insulting my job pisses me off the most.
And I could argue against so many of his points, letting him know that everything he said was bullshit.
But I’m not going to because, simply put, I don’t have time for this shit.
And I realize . . . I don’t care. Not about Colin.
I’m such an idiot. But it was all for a good reason.
Sorry, Papa. I tried.
“Fine,” I say simply, pulling my hands away from his before taking off my engagement ring. “Here. You can take this back, too. I don’t want it.”
I place the ring on the table and slide it across toward him, resisting the urge to throw it in his face or shove it up his nose, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an emotional outburst. The huge diamond rock in the center sparkles against the light, catching the eye of several women sitting around us.
I swear some of their heads turn like The Exorcist to get a better look as they realize what’s happening, their eyes as big as saucers as they gawk at the size of the ring.
One of the women even leans so far forward to get a better look that she jostles her steaming hot coffee, spilling it on her hand. But instead of crying out at what I know has to hurt, she quietly blots at it, blowing cool air across her hand so she doesn’t miss a single moment of the Colin and Violet Breakup Show.
“You know,” I say as I grab my purse and slide on my Gucci shades, ignoring the commotion of googly-eyed stares and growing whispers from women around us, “It was really good to reconnect after so long, Colin. And we tried to make it work. It didn’t. Thanks for everything.”
My words are clipped and to the point.
If he’s going to break off our engagement like this, I see no reason to drag it out with some long ass monologue that’ll amount to nothing in the end, anyway.
Finished, I begin to rise from my chair, but Colin grabs my arm, holding me in place, his jaw slack in surprise.
One of the women watching suddenly decides that’s her cue and claps her hands sharply, interrupting our scene with one of her own. “Boy, you’d best let that girl’s arm go. You had your moment, and a queen like that is better off without a twat-stain like you.”
Several people gasp at her language and volume, but Archie has me corrupted to not even blink at that level of crudeness. Thankful for the support, I look over to her and offer a weak smile of appreciation. For his part, Colin scowls but loosens his grip. Still, he’s not done.
“Wait a minute now, Vi. You’re not even going to try to talk about this? After all we’ve been through?” His voice has an almost whine to it, confirming what I expected.
He wanted me to break down and beg him not to leave me.
In front of a fucking audience.
Like he’s some golden goose prize that I would debase myself to possess.
Well, he can kick rocks.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of a show.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Nope.”
“Look, Vi, I know how much our getting married means to you. I get it, you’re pissed and upset. I would be too, but can we please not end things on bad terms? You don’t have to act this way—”
“We’re fine,” I say, disengaging my arm from his grasp and rising to my feet. “Besides, you’re right. It’s probably for the best.”
Colin’s lips work for several seconds, at a loss for words. Like he can’t believe this didn’t turn out how he expected, me in a crying puddle at his feet.
He clenches his jaw, showing that he’s actually getting angry. “Violet—”
“’Bye, Colin.”
Ruffled, Colin straightens his collar and clears his throat, trying one last tactic, gesturing at my half-eaten food. “Will you just sit down and finish the bagel, at least?”
Turning away, I toss over my shoulder, just as casually as he tossed away our relationship, “No time. I gotta go to work . . . and do that ‘decorating thing’.”
My single cheerleader stands up, her arm circling in rally. “That’s right, girl. Strut it out of here and own the world.” She sneers at Colin, more emotionally invested in this than even I am, and isn’t that pitiful?
She’s my only supporter, though. Every other woman in here is judging me as unworthy of keeping Colin. All they see is a handsome guy in a suit with a flashy diamond ring . . . back on the market.
I imagine Colin will be collecting numbers by the stacks before he even walks out of the coffee shop.
Well, they can have him.
I get into the cab and far down the block before the tears come. Not for Colin, not for the decimation of our relationship, but for Papa and for the little girl I once was, and still am to some degree, who wants to make her grandfather happy.
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Standalones
The Dare || My Big Fat Fake Wedding || Filthy Riches || Scorpio
Bennett Boys Ranch:
Buck Wild || Riding Hard || Racing Hearts
The Tannen Boys:
Rough Love || Rough Edge || Rough Country
Dirty Fairy Tales:
Beauty and the Billionaire || Not So Prince Charming || Happily Never After
Get Dirty:
Dirty Talk || Dirty Laundry || Dirty Deeds || Dirty Secrets
Irresistible Bachelors:
Anaconda || Mr. Fiance || Heartstopper
Stud Muffin || Mr. Fixit || Matchmaker
Motorhead || Baby Daddy || Untamed